


Autistic Reid drabbles

by its_just_us_here



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Autistic Character, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, autistic!spencer, cw: internalized ableism, hand job (sort of), i hate thinking of tags sorryyyy, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_just_us_here/pseuds/its_just_us_here
Summary: Domestic Morgan/Reid drabbles feat. autistic Reid. Some angst and some fluff and just all-around Moreid cuteness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, not all chapters will by angsty, some of them will be downright adorable and fluffy, but, um, why start out in a happy place when instead you could start with angst?

It was late, and Spencer was so tired he could feel it deep in his joints and his bones. Derek and already gone to bed hours ago but Spencer had stayed up to finish the book he was reading. For two hours he had sat curled up in his favorite chair, so entranced in the novel that he didn’t notice the way that his knees and hips had begun to ache from the awkward position. Next to him, a bowl of half-eating sugary cereal sat on the side table. As Spencer closed the back cover of the book with a satisfying thud, he finally stood up on wobbly feet and stretched his arms high above his head. He wanted nothing more than to curl his body up beside Derek’s. He glanced at his cereal bowl. Derek and Spencer didn’t fight often, but the cleanliness of their shared apartment was often a point of contention; Derek was a self-proclaimed neat freak, and Spencer didn’t know how to articulate that he was a grown man who was often emotionally overwhelmed by the prospect of simple housekeeping.

Spencer pushed the bowl to the back of his mind and took a step towards the bedroom, but then froze. He looked back at the table. He could hear in his mind exactly what Derek’s annoyed sigh would sound like upon discovering it the next morning. With steely resolve, Spencer reached a hand out to pick it up, but then changed course once again as he imagined what the water and dish soap would feel like running over his hands and fingers. Spencer hated wet; he found it repulsive, and avoided it whenever possible, and he felt too worn down to bring himself to turn on that faucet tonight.

The internal battle he was fighting was one that he was all too familiar with and he felt the acidic taste of anger and frustration rising in his throat. The unbearable weight of expectation versus the oppressive limitations of his bodily, sensory existence. He felt paralyzed. He had to wash the bowl, but couldn’t. He couldn’t make his body move in either direction.

Sighing, Spencer sat back down, leaned his body sideways, and laid down in the chair, tucking his knees up to his chin in order to fit his impossibly tall frame into the confines of the oversized recliner. He loved the chair because he could do exactly this. Derek teased him about it often, relentlessly pointing out that the chair was too large for one person but too small for two; it was, logically, a waste of space. To prove his point, Derek loved squishing his body into the chair next to Spencer, their hips and ribs and knees pushed together almost painfully by the armrests as the two men giggled and squirmed. One of Derek’s favorite pasttimes was drafting faux Craigslist ads for the chair and reading them out loud to Spencer; but the first time Derek dropped to his knees in front of the very same chair and reached for his belt, Spencer smirked, knowing it was all just show.

The more he subdivided the task in his mind, the more overwhelming it became, and whenever he got to the part where he had to put his hands underneath running water… He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping the pressure on his sinuses could calm him down, but his mind was racing now. _Three Ph.D.’s and I can’t wash a fucking dish?_ _How would Hotch and the team react to their prodigal teammate being brought down by Lucky Charms and warm milk?_ Before he even really knew what he was doing, Spencer was standing up, reaching for the bowl, and with surprising strength, hurling it against the wall where it broke with a satisfying crunch.

His regret was immediate. Spencer collapsed back in the chair, not bothering to look at the mess he had made, rubbing his eyes harder and harder with shaking hands.

He heard Derek pad out into the living room but didn’t bother to move his fists to look at his boyfriend’s reaction. The footsteps stopped and then there was a pause as Derek must’ve surveyed the room, looking for the source of the noise, and surely finding it.

“What the hell, Spencer?”

Spencer was embarrassed and not in the mood to talk or explain. He heaved himself up from the chair and pushed past Derek to the kitchen to get the broom and paper towels, mumbling a quiet “I don’t know, Derek,” on the way without making eye contact.

Derek stayed glued in the place and was still staring questioningly at Spencer as he returned with a broom and dustpan. His facial expression was accusatory; demanding some sort of explanation for why Spencer would smash a dish against the wall for no apparent reason and wake him up in the middle of the night.

Spencer gave only a sheepish glance as he passed Derek again, who was now left glaring incredulously at Spencer’s back as he kneeled down to brush the shattered glass into the dustpan.

“ _Spencer_ ,” Derek called again, becoming annoyed.

With an uneven exhale, Spencer stood up and began to carry the dustpan back to the kitchen, his eyes trained on the floor the whole way. Derek stopped him with one firm hand on Spencer’s hip, his other hand reaching out to take the dustpan from Spencer and set it down on the end table. As their bodies collided, Spencer noticed for the first time that Derek was naked, having rushed out straight from bed to find out what was going on. Spencer felt guilty for waking him, but guiltier still for the way he was about to shut Derek out.

Spencer nervously ran a hand through his hair as he looked up to meet Derek’s gaze, taking in his boyfriend’s furrowed brows but also the way his expression softened when he saw the wetness in Spencer’s eyes.

“Hey, Kid,” Derek breathed, his voice warm and gentle, the hand on his hip sliding around his lower back to pull them close together.

Spencer opened his mouth to say something. He thought briefly about lying: he dropped the dish or it slipped or some explanation other than the true fact that he was often completely overwhelmed by his own life and struggled to function like a normal adult human being. He didn’t want to face the rejection that laid in wait on the other side of that confession. But he knew, too, that Derek would see through any story he made up, and so he pursed his lips and stared at a spot on the wall beyond Derek’s shoulder. A few tense moments passed, and then, finally, pleadingly: “Derek, just let me clean this up and we can go to bed.”

Without waiting for a response, Spencer squirmed out of Derek’s hold; as Derek held up his palms in a terse surrender stance, Spencer was met with that same annoyed sigh he had been hoping to avoid when this began. Derek shook his head as Spencer scurried back to the kitchen, finding himself wishing he had his own bowl to smash in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm just saying, Sensory Processing Disorder isn't *all* bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the nice notes on the last chapter! I'm glad people like this idea. Leave me more love and I'll be more motivated to keep writing more... :)

It was well after midnight as Spencer stood outside his front door opening it in a haze. He was too tired and too distracted to get the key into the lock and was quickly losing patience for the task. After his third unsuccessful attempt, Spencer punched the door with a loud thud and immediately felt ridiculous for doing so. Leaning his forehead against the doorframe, Spencer closed his eyes and took a few controlled breaths.

It was then that he heard footsteps coming up behind him, and then strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind. _Of course_ Derek had seen. “What’d that door ever do to you, hmmm?” Derek murmured into his neck.

Spencer sighed, embarrassed. “It’s just… the key wouldn’t… and I couldn’t get the lock to…” Spencer tried to explain as his hands flew through the air in a flurry of ambiguous hand gestures. After a moment, he paused and finally breathed, “I’m so tired, Derek.”

Derek gave a small chuckle as he reached for the keychain in Spencer’s hand and in one swift movement had the door unlocked and opened.

Inside the apartment, Derek tugged Spencer in for a soft kiss before enveloping him in a hug. “Tough case, huh?” Derek asked, testing the waters.

Spencer stiffened. It _had_ been tough, and all he wanted to do was forget about the past few days and move on. After five days in Seattle, their case came to a close when Spencer watched their teenage unsub bring the nozzle of her gun to her own head and pull the trigger. Whenever Spencer closed his eyes, he could see the determined look in her eyes as she did it: no fear, just certainty. He could hear the gunshot and smell the gunpowder and feel the blood spatter on his neck and cheek. But when work was hard – as it so often was, given their jobs – Spencer never liked to talk about it without processing it on his own first. Derek was beginning to pick up on that, but he also knew that Spencer never talked without prompting; and so it was up to him to just keep bringing it up until he happened to stumble on a time when Spencer was finally ready.

In response to Derek’s question, Spencer simply hummed and nodded as he stared down at the ground. Derek exhaled and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Go lay down, Kid. I’m just going to take a quick shower.”

Spencer shuffled into the bedroom and didn’t bother to turn on the light as he stripped down to his boxer briefs and all but dived under the covers, curling his body up into a ball as he laid on his side. He willed himself to stop thinking about how young the unsub was, how hurt she was; what Spencer could’ve done or said differently to change the outcome of the previous day. Without really realizing it, he started rocking his body back and forth in tiny movements and tried to focus his mind on the way the sheets felt sliding over his skin as he did so.

Spencer heard the bathroom door open behind him and instinctively froze. He didn’t believe that Derek would judge or denigrate him for rocking, but at some point it had become an automatic reflex to hide his behaviors that others would consider abnormal. Still not feeling up to a conversation, Spencer kept his eyes trained on the wall ahead of him instead of turning around to acknowledge Derek. He listened as his boyfriend toweled himself off and padded back and forth to the bathroom a few times to finish getting ready for bed.

Finally, he heard Derek’s footsteps approaching the bed and relished the warmth he felt as Derek slid under the covers next to him.

“You asleep?” Derek whispered.

“No,” Spencer said quietly.

Derek pushed down the blankets to Spencer’s waist so that his back was exposed. He reached out a steady hand until his fingertips just barely made contact with Spener’s skin and began to trace patterns wherever he could, caressing each notch in his spine and outlining his shoulder blades and counting his ribs and reaching up to dip into his hairline.

“Thank you,” Spencer murmured reverently as Derek’s fingers worked. Spencer felt like he was melting, like all the tension in his shoulders was liquefying; it gave him goosebumps and made his entire body tingle. Unlike most autistic people, Spencer hated deep pressure but had an almost euphoric response to light touch. After a few minutes he felt his mind finally slow down as he thought only about Derek’s fingertips and not the horrific week he’d had. His breathing evened out as he felt all of his muscles relax.

They stayed like that for a while, Derek’s fingers moving lazily and Spencer starting to feel on the verge of falling asleep. Spencer was awakened from his trance, though, when he felt Derek’s hand slide over his hip bone and Derek’s body sidling up flush against his.

“My arm’s getting tired,” Derek said, and Spencer could hear that he was grinning as his fingers moved to the soft trail of hair underneath his belly button.

“Mmm, maybe you should start going to the gym,” Spencer teased breathlessly.

As Spencer giggled softly, Derek brought his fingers lower to seek out the head of Spencer’s half-hard cock through the fabric of his underwear. Spencer abruptly whined, exhaling sharply. “Oh, what were you saying?” Derek asked smugly.

He didn’t get a response from Spencer, and he hadn’t been expecting one. Derek had learned early in their relationship that Spencer’s brain seemed to shut off completely during sex. 

Derek’s hand stayed on top of the fabric, tracing soft lines from base to tip, stopping every now and then to give the head some extra attention. It wasn’t so different from the way he had stroked Spencer’s back earlier. It was driving Spencer crazy; without any control over it, Spencer was panting and letting out soft moans. His body had become tense again, in a different, better way; he could feel his muscles straining as he anticipated his eventual release.

It’s not that Spencer was this sensitive because he was inexperienced; it’s just that all of his senses had always been heightened, or at least jumbled. Like his bones weren’t held together by muscle and skin but instead by a blanket of raw, exposed nerve endings.

The first time Derek had ever touched him so softly like this he had meant it as foreplay; merely a teasing gesture before he jerked or sucked him off. But Spencer couldn’t hold back his reaction, and as he bit into Derek’s shoulder to stifle his moans, Derek laughed. “God, you are so fucking hot right now. You could come from this, couldn’t you?”

Embarrassed, Spencer only nodded as he burrowed further into Derek’s neck, but he was sure Derek could feel the heat of his blush against his own skin. Somehow, though, the shame heightened his arousal and as he felt the fabric of his briefs moistening with precome, Derek pulled back and looked him square in the eyes. His fingers were still working, barely touching Spencer but still making him come undone. “Nuh uh, no hiding, Kid,” he said in a low voice. Spencer nodded sheepishly between desperate, panting breaths. “I’m not lying to you, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. How about you come for me, huh? Show me how much you like this?”

It had been all Spencer needed. His head fell back and his mouth opened wide as his cock twitched and he made a mess of his underwear.

They did plenty of other things together in bed, but being touched like this was still Spencer’s favorite way to come, and he knew that’s why Derek was doing it for him after the week they’d had. He knew he was getting close and he rolled over onto his back to look at Derek’s face, reaching out to pull him in for a kiss. Derek was apparently eager to comply, his tongue sliding into Spencer’s mouth almost aggressively, and Spencer was happy to shut his mind off and let Derek dominate him in that way.

The pressure building inside of him was almost painful. He broke the kiss, panting, “Derek, I… I need to…”

Derek grinned slyly and halted his hand with a fingertip pressed against the tip of Spencer’s cock. “Say please, Pretty Boy,” Derek demanded.

Words were not coming easily to Spencer. He let out a loud groan before finally getting out a mumbled, “Derek, oh God… please, let me come…”

Derek chuckled dryly as he used the pad of this thumb to trace featherlight circles on the head of Spencer’s cock until he heard Spencer’s whine and felt his fingers getting damp. Moving his hand, Derek leaned back to bring his mouth to Spencer’s and swallow his moans as he came.

Even as Spencer’s breathing finally evened out again, they kept kissing lazily for a few minutes. Spencer felt like he would die if he didn’t fall asleep soon, but out of a sense of obligation he reached a hand out for the waistband of Derek’s boxers. When Derek batted his hand away, whispering “No, this was about you,” Spencer didn’t bother to hide his relieved sigh. With all of his remaining energy, Spencer maneuvered to take his boxers off, using them to wipe himself off before he tossed them on the floor and curled into the warmth of Derek’s chest to fall asleep.

 

 


End file.
